


Trollavellan: A Care Package

by CommonEvilMastermind



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Troll!Lavellan, Trolllavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonEvilMastermind/pseuds/CommonEvilMastermind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this post from tumblr:</p><p>solastolemyvenhan: </p><p>Trollavellan that sends random gift boxes to Solas wherever his hideout is, full of clothes for his higher ranking spies, and a new knitted sweater for him to wear under his armor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trollavellan: A Care Package

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Trollavellan tumblr post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/151051) by solastolemyvenhan. 



“My lord?” Fen’Harel looked up from his planning. “My lord, we found- there’s an additional crate that came in with the supplies this morning.” His seneschal looked concerned, unsure if this was worthy of his attention. “Shall we open it, or-?”

“Where is the crate?” Fen’Harel swept out of his study and the other elf kept pace easily, her breath fogging in the chilled air. 

“Outside the Denerim entrance, lord, just where we found it.”

“Good.” He smiled at her and she glowed faintly from the praise. “Well done, Tumevial. You’ve done exactly right.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I’m not your lord, Tumevial,” he reminded her as they neared the eluvian that served as their main gate for supplies. 

“Yes, my lord,” Tumevial said meekly. Fen’Harel shook his head. Freedom proved, as usual, an easier concept to market than to teach. 

They stepped through the eluvian, the glass warping and melding around them under his will. It led to a musty second basement under an elvish-owned restaurant in Denerim. There, as reported, was a small unmarked crate. Fen’Harel frowned, testing it with his power. It had no hum of magic, no resonance, and yet…

The rebel leader tugged the Fade through his Veil and wrapped the crate in a force field, designed to protect him and Tumevial should the thing explode on contact. He reached through it gingerly and dissolved the smooth wooden top. Tumevial craned her neck to see what was inside.

“That’s my name!” she gasped. Fen’Harel frowned. That was indeed her name, on a scrap of paper pinned to a bolt of fabric. He dismissed the force field and let the seneschal come forward and touch the package carefully. “Ooh,” she breathed. “How fine.” Looking to her lord for permission, she drew the gift out. It was a dress of everknit wool, died midnight blue, with matching leg wraps. Tumevial touched it, hands shaking slightly. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”

“There’s a note,” Fen’Harel said faintly. 

Tumevial examined the other side of the paper. “ ‘You do my heart proud as his seneschal. Now you can look the part. Thank you for taking care of him. Signed, L.’” 

“Lavellan.” Fen’Harel breathed his lover’s name, unsure if he wanted to laugh or shout or weep. Instead he asked, “What else is in the box?”

Tumevial put her dress aside with reverent hands and pulled out package after package, calling out the names. “Rasa,”- his spy master -“Orlean,”- commanded his troops – “Alaria” – his advisor to the Dalish – “Senegal” – coordinator of the city elves. Each parcel seemed to contain warm clothing and a personal note, written in heartbreakingly familiar, completely horrible handwriting. 

Tumevial pulled out the last package. “Solas.” Fen’Harel accepted it silently in hands that did not shake. It was a sweater, knitted in the deep green he favored. The accompanying note said, in his own tongue, “Metal conducts cold as well as heat. Wear this under your armor. Stay safe. Come home soon.”

Fen’Harel shook his head silently. “My lord?” Tumevial had been trying to get his attention. “My lord, these gifts. Are we to-“ 

“Keep them, yes.” He shook himself. “They were freely given.”

“Thank you my lord.”

“I will be in my study,” he told her and walked back through the eluvian, back into his chilly subterranean strong hold, back to his study where he closed the door firmly and laughed until he wept.


End file.
